Metaphysics and Coffee
by fowl68
Summary: Or five ways that Richter and Aster never met and one way they did.


**Disclaimer:** Don't own anything.

**Author's Note:** School has begun. Senior year is here and first days of school suck. On the bright note, they do provide ample time for coming up with random story ideas, like this one.

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_In everyone's life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit.  
>~Albert Schweitzer<em>

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_One_

He was in his favorite booth of the café, in the corner up against the windows and facing the restaurant. A tall mug of hot coffee and a book were excellent companions on a day like this, when the rain was pattering the window glass and the air conditioning was somewhere between chilly and warm.

He was startled when someone sat across from him. Didn't people know that this was his corner? He sat here often enough, every day after his classes at the college were done.

The boy that sat across from him—seriously, he looked like he should be learning to drive—smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. This was the only open spot."

He looked around and the boy was right. The café was full of people looking to escape the pounding rain. "…It's fine."

The boy tilted his head to read the cover of his book. "Huh."

He pushed his glasses up his nose irritably. "Something wrong?"

The boy shook his head. "Not really. Just didn't think you looked like a metaphysicist."

"What do you know of metaphysics?"

"Professor Arner, right?" The boy flashed a grin, which lit up a sweetheart face and green eyes. "I have him too."

"No way. You look fifteen."

The boy bristled. "I'm _seven_teen. I skipped a few grades."

"Clearly." He muttered. "What're you specializing in?"

"How metaphysics applies to Summon Spirits, particularly Ratatosk."

"Ratatosk?"

The boy blinked. "Yeah. You have heard of him, right?"

"It's not a matter of hearing of him, it's a matter of surprise at the fact that someone else has. He's one of the most ignored Summon Spirits."

"Yeah, and I find that a real shame, actually because if you've read the old Boltzman texts—" The boy kept going with enthusiasm and passion, his hands illustrating his words.

He can't believe how easily they're speaking about this. He's never met another student that he could really have a discussion like this with—not that he ever really interacted much with students in the first place—and he found the fact that this was a seventeen year old kid who could keep up with him rather ironic.

They talked until the café was closing and the rain had long ago stopped. They talked as they left the building, walking through the puddle-filled, rain-slick streets. It wasn't until they came to his apartment did he think to ask the kid's name.

The boy smiled, sweetheart and golden. "Aster."

"Richter."

Aster nodded and waved as he began heading back down the street. "See you in class, then."

_Two_

"Hey, professor?" Richter poked his head back in the door, having forgotten to ask something about the lecture. "Professor?"

There was someone at the board, but it certainly wasn't the professor. This someone was dressed in a janitorial uniform and was much younger than the professor, blonde hair tied back in a short ponytail at the nape of their neck. They dropped the chalk almost guiltily, ducking their head.

"Who are you and what're you doing here?"

"I'm a janitor and I was cleaning."

Richter looked at the board, saw that the formula that the professor had left for them to try and complete until the next class was completed in handwriting that was entirely different from the professors. The janitor's twos had the curl rather than the sharp edge and he did the line through the seven.

"Really? 'Cause that doesn't look like cleaning to me."

The janitor shrugged. "Well, I can't change what you see."

Richter studied the board more closely as the janitor went back to his work. "…This is advanced work." He turned back to the blonde. "How do you know how to do this?"

The janitor avoided his eyes, shrugging small shoulders. "I just do. I see it and it…clicks."

"Why aren't you enrolled in the university?"

The blonde snorted. "With what money?"

"No scholarships? No financial aid?"

"I didn't graduate high school."

Richter found it suddenly strange that he was discussing things like this with a complete stranger. "What's your name?" The janitor pointed to his nametag. "Mary?"

He laughed. "No. It's just the only nametag they had available. I'm Aster."

"Richter. Richter Abend."

"Nice to meet you."

"…Can I ask why you didn't graduate?"

Aster looked amused for some strange reason. "Why weren't you hesitating about asking before you knew my name?"

"I don't know. Are you going to answer the question?"

Aster chuckled. "You get riled really easily. And the answer is because I had to drop out to earn enough money to support my sister and I."

"She's younger than you?" Richter had grown up in a neighborhood with a lot of kids and something about Aster was the same as those older brothers who always had one eye on their sibling.

"Mmhm. She's working at an English degree. Just two more years." Aster tucked a loose lock of hair from his bangs back behind his ear. "I need to get going. Other classrooms to clean, y'know?"

"Yeah…"

Aster was nearly out the door when he looked back. "Hey, can you not mention this to the professor?"

Richter wanted to ask why, almost did, but instead, he simply nodded. He wasn't sure why. "Sure."

_Three_

He was there, every day, at the same spot. Aster would pass him on the way from his room to the physical therapy, his legs still not quite holding him up because of the damage from the car crash.

On the way back from a therapy session, he was possessed by the sudden urge to sit next to him. The redhead turned toward the soft sound of Aster thumping into the seat beside him. "Who is that?"

"You don't know me." Aster told him, letting the man with the bandages around his eyes press a hand to his shoulder. It was something automatic, not trusting someone when you couldn't see. "My name's Aster."

"Why're you here?"

"I'm a patient too. And I was in the need for some company and you didn't look terribly busy, so…"

"Feeling sorry for the blind man?"

"No." Aster said honestly. He'd been sympathetic, but it was a distant kind of sympathy. "But if you want me to kick you when you're down, I can do that too."

The redhead laughed, a hoarse sound that Aster thought would be rather rich normally. "That's a response I hadn't heard before."

"Good. I didn't wanna be like all the other guys."

"What're you in for?"

"Car crash." Aster didn't say the extent of it, didn't like being reminded of how difficult it was to walk, didn't like remembering the screech of tires and the smell of burning rubber and the asphalt. "You?"

"Same."

It was a stupid thing to ask, really, but something in Aster had to say it. "…When?"

"'Bout a month ago. Maybe more. It's really hard to tell time when…well." Richter gestured vaguely to his bandaged eyes. "Why?"

Something in Aster's stomach dropped, icy and heavy and he wanted nothing more than to make it go away. "Curiosity. Drunk driver?"

"No. The roads were real icy that night. I was on the I95 heading home from work when this other driver—in a little station wagon looking thing. I'm not good with cars. It was blue though. I remember that." Richter didn't say that he remembered it because it was one of the last things he saw, one of the only colors he remembered. "You know how it is with icy roads."

Aster swallowed hard, remembering his little blue car with the week-old bottle of water in the cup holder along with the plastic bag full of movies he'd bought on sale in the passenger seat. He remembered the bag of sunflower seeds he'd been snacking on, remembered seeing the other car and losing control…"Yeah. Yeah I do."

_Four_

Aster loved the feeling of books, loved the smooth edges, the textures of their spines beneath his fingers as he skimmed the shelves. He loved their artwork and the smell of the ink on the pages. He particularly liked old books, with their pages yellowed like tea stains, heavy with memories of so many different readers.

So engrossed was he that he didn't watch his feet and found himself pitching sideways over something. Or rather, someone.

"What the—" The person he'd tripped over was spluttering and muttering curses.

Aster twisted on the person's lap so he was sitting in the crook of crossed legs. He winced as pain flared in his ankle. Lovely. He'd twisted it—again. He had a strange talent for twisting his ankle. "Sorry about that."

"Don't you watch where you're going?" The person asked irritably, righting glasses that had been knocked askew.

"Usually. Ow. Here, hang on." Aster grabbed the man's shoulders to try and push himself up. Once he was on his feet, favoring his left one, he reached out a hand to the bespectacled man. "I tend to get lost in my head when there's books involved."

A snort. "Yeah, I can see that." Aster pulled the other man to his feet.

"Well, it's not like it was on purpose."

"Because that makes it so much better."

"D'you like coffee?"

The man gave him a look, olive green eyes exasperated behind his glasses. "Really?"

Aster frowned, not quite understanding, then saw the shirt that the man was wearing. It read: Warning. _The Surgeon General has declared that bothering me before I've had my coffee could be hazardous to your health._

He laughed then. "Alright then. Lemme treat you to coffee as an apology. D'you like macchiato?"

"You're one of those people that likes those really weird flavors like hazelnut, aren't you?"

"I prefer vanilla or caramel actually." Aster told him as they started walking towards the coffee shop inside the bookstore.

The redhead shook his head. "Kids these days. What's wrong with a normal cup of coffee? I suppose you like your coffee cold too."

Aster shrugged helplessly. "What can I say? I'm a slave to my generation."

"And you're perfectly okay with that, aren't you?"

"Absolutely. Since I'm treating you, I should at least know you're name, shouldn't I?"

"Abend. It's Richter Abend."

"Okay, 007." Aster jumped a little as his phone rang, not having expected it. _But I would walk 500 miles, and I would walk 500 more, just to be the man who walked 1000 miles to fall down at your door…_

Richter arched an eyebrow. "The Proclaimers? Really?"

"Hey, I'm actually very fond of them."

"So much for being a slave to your generation."

Aster rolled his eyes and checked the number, grimacing when he saw it was his ex's. He thumbed the ignore button and slipped it back in his pocket. "I'm only a slave when it comes to coffee."

Richter chuckled. "Then I think we're gonna get along just fine."

_Five_

The sudden hiss and pop from the machine made Aster cough and wave away the acrid-smelling smoke. "That can't be good."

"You _are_ a genius, aren't you?" Aster squinted at the speaker, a redhead watching with a smirk quirking at his lips. "Rilena said that there was a genius here and that if I found someone blowing something up, that that was them."

"You're the new guy, I take it? Richard or something? Rilena mentioned you, but I'm horrible at remembering names."

"Richter."

The redhead held out a hand, which Aster shook with a smile. "Aster. Are you good at making things not blow up?"

"I'd like to think I am, yeah."

"Wonderful." Aster grinned at him, grease marks streaking his cheeks and blonde hair disheveled and tinged black in places. "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

_…And One…_

Aster sprinted down the stairs. He could feel the answer to the Director's question tugging at the edges of his mind, but he needed a book from the Academy library to confirm it. He grabbed the banister, pulling himself into a turn.

He saw the boy at the last minute and tried to backpedal, but it didn't work very well. The both of them ended up sprawled at the foot of the stairs, groaning. There was a knee lodged in his ribs and an elbow poking at his collarbone. Aster pushed himself up and off the boy, who was patting his hands around on the ground as if searching for something.

Aster spotted the glasses that had probably skittered and slid easily on the wooden floors and ran to get them. "Hey, you okay?" He asked the other boy as he handed him back the spectacles.

The other boy kept his head down, even as he shoved the glasses back in place. Aster was surprised he could see at all with his bangs in his eyes like that. "I'm fine." The boy muttered.

The redhead's hair shifted and Aster saw the tips of triangular ears. One of the half-elves? Aster had heard that they worked in the basement. Then he looked around again and saw papers scattered about. "Goddess, I'm sorry." He helped the boy pick the papers up. "I saw you, but I couldn't stop in time and.." Aster knew that he tended to babble when he apologized.

When he was putting the papers back in the other boy's arms, he asked, "I'm Aster, by the way."

The boy said something, but it was so soft that Aster couldn't hear. "What?"

"Richter." He said a little louder, still not looking at him.

"I like that name. Sounds sturdy." Aster tilted his head at Richter. "Why won't you look at me?"

"You're a human."

"…So?"

"I'm a half-elf."

"Uh-huh…what's your point?"

Richter's head shot up and Aster saw that his eyes were a strange green, darker than his own. They looked a bit like olives, really. They narrowed as they studied him. "You don't care, do you? That we're different races."

"Why would I?"

"No reason." But Richter was beaming and it made his face light up. The image stuck with Aster even after Richter had disappeared back up the stairs—to deliver the papers to the Director, or so the half-elf had said—and Aster thought that he'd really rather like to see that smile again.


End file.
